Love…a Sweet Torment

Sunita sighed at the clothes piled up for ironing…the creases craved for being straightened out. Remorsefully, she looked out of the window. The orange ball was setting, giving way to an inky blue sky. Watching the sun sink with such miraculous ease, she sighed. Nature had its own rhythm and it let go of what was, with no complaints.

But she had not been able to let go of the death of her husband, four years ago. Rahul had been a doting husband and they had shared wonderful times. How often, with a twinkle in his eyes, he would tweak her hair and pull her cheeks lovingly.

They would often sit serenely on the hills watching the blue sky give way to a greyness with a silver moon gazing by. Holding hands they would immerse themselves in the beauty of the million stars twinkling by. It was here that he would sing for her, her favourite melody…” Bade acche lagte hain, ye dharti, ye nadiya, ye raina aur tum.”Her face would then glow with an exhilarating joy that would pulse in her entire being.

But all that had disappeared into thin air. Rahul had died an untimely death due to kidney failure.

The last year still flashed painfully at her. The innumerable rounds of the hospitals where she had spent most of her time. Rahul’s health had deteriorated swiftly and he had been advised a kidney transplant. But the good news was that her kidney had matched with Rahul’s and the doctor had planned for surgery.

But the Devil has its own way of entering one’s life. Just a week before Rahul’s surgery, the Death God visited him and took him away in his lethal arms from his dialysis session. Sunita’s life fell apart like a pack of cards. Devastated, she broke down and soon an unimaginable vacuum filled her entire life.

Today she had nothing much to look forward to. Day in and day out, she had numerous duties to fulfil as a daughter in law. Love is a sweet torment. How she missed her earlier happy days!  Baba, her father in law, got up and trudged to the living area with his wooden stick. Sunita went to the kitchen to make his evening tea. Losing his only son had taken a toll on him. The whole day he would stare blankly at the walls. However, after dusk, he would sit with his radio, which his son had gifted him and hear his music program.

The tea leaves started to throw their golden colour and she put the milk and sugar, deftly reaching out for the strainer to strain the liquid concoction. Her hands trembled as the soft tone of a song wafted inside, “Bade acche lagte hain, ye dharti, ye nadiya, ye raina , aur tum.”The tea splashed all over the kitchen slab, but not more than the memories which burst forth like a dam. Tears flowed effortlessly from her red eyes and her stomach gnawed in a pain ever so fresh.

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Rachna Karara
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